


You're not alone, you know.

by dedicatedfollower467



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ableism, Baking, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hyperfixation, Hyperfocus, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant, Self-Esteem Issues, i'm really upset and this was a self-indulgent way of calming myself down, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: Jane tries to keep Dirk's head screwed on straight, and despite himself, he really appreciates it.Just some friendship fluff.





	You're not alone, you know.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm BIG MAD about the Homestuck Epilogues because Dirk is one of my favorite characters and I love his relationship with Jane so much, so here have some sweet friendship fluff. it's a little ooc probably but it can't be *more* ooc than the epilogues.
> 
> not beta'd so please lemme know if you catch typos/whatever!

You’re tinkering with another robot when you hear the knock at the door. For a second, you seriously consider pretending you didn’t hear it. It’s so much easier to isolate yourself down here than to deal with other people. Even including the people you like.

A quick glance at your phone, however, reveals that people have been trying to contact you for… oh man, has it really been that long? Have you seriously been holed up here for literal weeks ignoring everyone on the face of this planet?

Reluctantly, you put down your tools and stretch, feeling your joints pop and crack. Twenty-three and you already creak like an old man when you stand. Your back aches from being twisted up hunched over your work, and you abruptly realize you’re way hungrier than you thought and also you _really_ have to piss.

The knocks come again, louder this time, accompanied by the sound of an oh-so-familiar raised voice. Absent-mindedly, you grab a bag of chips off the workbench as you sweep upstairs. You’ll piss after you let your unexpected houseguest in.

You slide open a few deadbolts with loud, satisfying _clunks_ and then there she is.

“Dirk!” says Jane, glaring up at you, hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You shrug. “I gotta take a leak, but come on in,” you say, stepping back to give her room to get through the door.

She seems taken aback at the ease with which she gains access to your house, but huffs out a laugh as she steps inside. “I bet you do,” she says, “I bet you sat down to work on whatever project you’ve got two days ago and haven’t gotten up until just now.”

That’s uncomfortably close to the truth. Actually, it might be the truth, considering you don’t remember the last time you got up from the workbench, or whether it was day or night outside when you did. You try not to let on how much that little insight gets to you, though, and retreat quickly to the bathroom where you answer the call of several days’ worth of nature.

When you leave the bathroom, Jane has already shoved all the empty chip and soda containers to one side of your shitty kitchen table, alchemized some flour and eggs and some other ingredients you need to bake pastries or whatever, and started mixing dough.

“Jane, what the hell,” you say, but she doesn’t even look up.

“How long have you been living on Doritos and orange soda?” she asks, except that it’s not really a question.

You’re not uncool enough to vaguely mutter “uhhhhhh” for twenty seconds while you try to remember the last meal you ate, so you stand in useless, awkward silence for those twenty seconds instead.

It strikes you once again how bad at this you are, at being a normal human being with normal human interactions. You’re twenty three, you’ve had seven years to practice, y’know, actually _living_ with people, but it seems like you’re still all-or-nothing. Either you’re an overbearing, controlling, obsessive freak who won’t leave well enough alone, or you just ghost everyone without meaning to.

You want to say you’re sorry for scaring Jane, sorry for not taking care of yourself. Except you’re not sorry, not really, because this is just you. The guy who gets way too invested in his projects, goes overboard and makes everything worse for everybody. You’re not ever going to not be like this, so what’s the point of empty apologies?

“Are you going to stand there, Dirk, or are you going to wash your hands and help me?” Jane asks.

“I washed my hands in the bathroom, I’m not some kind of monster,” you say, but you go wash your hands in the kitchen sink again, anyway.

Jane snorts. “It’s good to hear you say that,” and it’s clearly supposed to be some kind of spirited ribbing, but it comes off as a touch too soft and sincere. There’s too much warmth in her voice to be only teasing, too much weight behind what you said for it to really be a joke.

You could make this a sincere moment, too. You could answer back with something equally gentle and warm. You could say _you’re not a monster either, Jane_ , or _you know you’re my best friend, right?_ or even just a simple _thank you._

However, you’ve never claimed to be good at feelings or sincerity, so instead you just look down at the cutting board you’re standing over, filled with a bunch of vegetables you didn’t really have access to as a kid and haven’t bothered to learn the names of in the seven years you’ve been living here on Earth-C.

“What the hell are we making here?” you say, picking up a kitchen knife. “Some kind of weird vegetable pastry?”

“Meat pies,” Jane says, smiling at you. “I’ve been branching out into less sweet things.”

“Oh shit,” you say, in that totally deadpan trademark Strider style. “Don’t tell me you’ve sworn off cookies for good. I’m not sure I can handle a Jane that’s that out of character.”

She laughs, and you feel your whole body kind of relax in a way it hasn’t for… a long time. Why exactly do you avoid this, again? Being around people who like you is so, so much better than isolating yourself in your basement.

Oh yeah. Because you inevitably are going to fuck everything up.

“Don’t worry, Strider, I’m not totally crazy,” she says, elbowing you in the ribs. “But I’m sure you’re aware you can’t live on nothing but sugar forever. Now get to chopping.”

You do as she says, taking up the kitchen knife and beginning to chop vegetables into bite-sized pieces. Of course, you can’t help showing off a little - before long you’re tossing potatoes into the air and slashing through them with your katana, sending the halves careening to opposite ends of the kitchen while Jane laughs and scolds you.

You’re not smiling. You don’t really smile all that often, which is weird considering it’s a literally instinctive human trait that everyone in the world is supposed to possess except, apparently, for you. That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice, spending time with Jane, making pie and getting flour all over yourself like a huge dork.

When the pies are finally in the oven, the two of you settle your asses down on your shitty futon (it’s practically identical to the one you had in your apartment, down to the terrible springs), both of you letting out a weird sigh of contentment.

Without warning, Jane gently rests her head on your shoulder. It’s weird, but you let her, because Jane Crocker is one of your best friends in all of space and time and also sometimes you like to touch other people even if you won’t admit it.

“Don’t hide away from us again,” Jane says. She’s not looking at you, but you can hear the steel in her voice. “You know what you’re like when you get too wrapped up in your own head.”

You nod and slide an arm around her. “Yeah. Lucky me I have you guys.”


End file.
